


Seems Like Your Type

by fennecfawkes



Series: Two Sides, One Coin [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Death by Chinese Finger Trap, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hot Dog on a Stick, M/M, Nick Fury Is Not a Pirate, Recruitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ballad of Barton and Coulson. Not my characters, natch. Written for ClintCoulson_Lives!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seems Like Your Type

“His name’s Clint Barton.” Fury hands him the file. Phil opens it and looks at Fury skeptically.

“Why me?”

Fury grins. “Seems like your type.”

“He’s an ex-carny with a criminal record who once moonlighted as an Olympic archer.”

“Pretty hot, though, right?”

“I never want to hear you say that about anyone again.”

“Go get him, tiger,” Fury says, waving his hand dismissively.

“Or that. Don’t say that.”

“Get out of my damn office.”

. 

“I’d tell you we can offer you security, but that’s almost certainly not true. We’ll give you a place to stay and food that isn’t terrible, you’ll probably make friends even with your personality, and I’ll be your boss, because I’ve already determined I’m the only person who will put up with your sense of humor.”

“Sold,” says Barton, grinning. “Wait. Food and shelter. Medical?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know, clean bill of health’s important. Also, I’m pretty sure my kneecap and tibia are broken.”

Phil resists the urge to roll his eyes and clicks on his communicator. “Hill, I need a jet.”

. 

“And then there was this one time in the Midwest when I found out that the Hot Dog on a Stick stand in the mall was a front for human trafficking.”

Phil laughs. It’s late and they’re drunk in the safehouse, waiting for extraction via their third and perhaps most competent strike team member, Natasha Romanov. “You’re joking.”

“I would never joke about Hot Dog on a Stick, Phil,” says Barton, and Phil tries to convince himself that he doesn’t fucking love the way his name rolls off the guy’s tongue, but his attempt fails. “So I went undercover as an employee, which meant I got to wear the hat, which I kept when I took those sons of bitches down.”

“You think you’re tough, don’t you, Barton?”

“I am tough. Tougher than you for sure.”

“I’ve killed a man with a Chinese finger trap.”

“I thought that was a rumor.”

“It is,” Phil admits. “But it’s my favorite.”

“Even better than the one where we’re married?” Barton asks softly, and Phil hates him a little bit for it, for wrecking what was a friendly moment by bringing feelings into the mix.

“That one isn’t so bad,” says Phil. “How long did—”

Quite suddenly, he finds his back flat against the hardwood floor, and Barton—Clint, he supposes—has his hands all over him, running up and down his sides as though he’s memorizing the lines of Phil’s body, tongue and teeth trailing across Phil’s face and jaw and throat, and it’s exactly what Phil’s needed since the day he recruited Clint.

“This is probably not the wisest business decision I’ve ever made,” Phil says when Clint gives him a second to breathe.

Clint grins. “My decision, sir. You’ve just been coerced into it. That’s what we can tell the pirate, anyway.”

“For the last time, Clint, Nick Fury is not a pirate. He just happens to be missing an eye.”

“Damn, I like the way you make my name sound,” says Clint before making another move toward absolutely devouring Phil.

“As precious as this is, boys,” Natasha drawls from the door, which she’s just kicked open, “we’re expected back at SHIELD. Something about an initiative that Phil’s failed to mention?”

“She calls you by your first name, too?”

“She has never once received permission,” says Phil. “But frankly, I’m too terrified to tell her that’s not really one hundred percent OK.”

“I don’t think fucking your subordinate is, either,” Natasha says.

“It’s not fucking!” says Clint. “Not yet, anyway.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m going to forget about the mental images you just conjured. Please kindly tuck your shirts back in and we’ll go.”

Clint holds his hand all the way back to Manhattan. Phil tries not to grin too much.

. 

“So,” says Clint.

“Yeah,” says Phil.

They’re lying side by side in the bed Tony Stark’s bought for them, smack dab in the middle of the floor of Stark-now-Avengers Tower where they now live.

“Look, I’m really glad we had sex before you told me how exactly it is that you’re alive,” says Clint. “But it seems like that’s something we should maybe discuss now? Just maybe?”

“Years of medical research in case a top-level agent goes down mid-mission,” Phil says. “This one was engineered specifically for me. The surgery, that is.”

“They must really like you.”

“And you must really like me, too, considering I kind of lied to you.”

“You were still in a coma.”

“I should’ve broken out of it for your sake.”

“Aw, you really do care.”

“Even when you’re being controlled by an alien god.”

“Yeah, that’s a discussion for another day.” Clint rolls onto his side and looks at Phil. “Don’t die again, OK?”

“Marry me, OK?”

“We're already married. Please tell me amnesia isn’t part of this deal.”

“Vow renewal, then. A ‘hooray, we’re both alive and of sound mind’ vow renewal.”

“I guess I can agree to that.” Clint kisses Phil. “Hey, Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for fixing my leg and bringing me in and making me fall in love with you.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Phil. “They’re all the best decisions I’ve ever made.”


End file.
